


Tally Marks

by Curupia



Series: ZsaszMask drabbles [1]
Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Birds of Prey, Blood Play, Blow Jobs, Bodily Fluids, Choking, Dirty Talk, Dom Roman Sionis, Dom/sub Undertones, First Time Together, Getting Together, Knife Play, Knives, M/M, POV Victor Zsasz, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Scars, Sort Of, Sub Victor Zsasz, Under-negotiated Kink, Unnegotiated Kinks, Unsafe Sex Practices, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, black mask - Freeform, breath play, maybe a bit more than undertones, murder mention, seriously don't do this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23407882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curupia/pseuds/Curupia
Summary: Roman catches Zsasz as he's about to start his ritual. Roman has a brilliant idea. Victor is more than willing to indulge.“How do you pick where they go?” Roman interrupted, as he moved to get a closer look. “Do you have a pattern or a design in mind?”“No design. The marks go wherever I feel like putting them.”“Well that’s boring.”“Did you have something else in mind?” He could tell Roman did. He had that look in his eyes, the one that said Victor was playing right into his hand. It was dangerous and exciting and exactly where Victor preferred to be. It usually led to something enjoyable, eventually.“I can think of a few things...”
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Series: ZsaszMask drabbles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685887
Comments: 9
Kudos: 149





	Tally Marks

**Author's Note:**

> Guys.  
> I started this AGES ago as a quick little one shot, probably to be 1k about Roman making marks on Victor. Well, it got out of fucking hand. Obviously.  
> Hope you enjoy. This quarantine has been good for something at least. 
> 
> Can be considered a sequel to my previous work in this fandom. Totally fine to read alone though. There is very little substance. I'm not sorry. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are my life blood <3

Victor Zsasz stood in front of a gaudy floor length mirror in his employer’s ridiculously large en suite, stripped down to nothing but his boxers. Roman was passed out on his silk sheets in the adjoining room, had been for the past hour, drooling on feather pillows that cost more than Victor’s entire bed. He’d pulled Victor upstairs to celebrate after a deal gone awry had led to an afternoon of voracious violence. The “celebration” had consisted mostly of Roman gloating and sharing bottles of stupidly expensive liquor, recounting the day’s gruesome events and offering the occasional praise thrown Victor’s way.

Victor had enjoyed every second of it.

Of course, his own inclination towards celebration took a different path – one that tasted more of copper than caviar, more pain that patron – but he was more than willing to partake in Roman’s festivities, if for the simple pleasure of baring witness to the supernova that was Roman Sionis.

But now that supernova of volatility had exhausted itself, and Zsasz had an itching need to take care of; one that involved a blade and a fair amount of bloodshed, which is how he found himself in Roman’s bathroom. Roman would throw a tantrum of epic proportions if Zsasz got even a _drop_ of blood on one of his precious pieces of art or expensive linens. Besides, he hadn’t _technically_ been dismissed to leave yet – Roman simply passing out at the end of a giggling fit set off by nothing – so he would stay until Roman awoke. He’d rather not experience _that_ particular brand of hissy fit again. 

So entrenched was he in his ritual preparation that he didn’t hear the clatter from the other room or noticed he was no longer alone until he heard the melodic whine from his boss.

“Mr. Zsasz, I’m bored. Why aren’t you – oh…” Roman’s voice trailed off, eyes taking a generous moment to roam over the scarred body in front of him. Zsasz didn’t flinch, having developed better control over his body than that, but it was a near thing. He halted his set up, wondering if he was about to get kicked out or simply reprimanded for acting without orders. “My, my, what is going on in _here_?”

“The tally is off. I’m fixing it.” He didn’t feel the need to explain further. Roman wasn’t a stupid man, he could connect the dots.

Indeed, his eyes lit up with understanding at the words, scanning the hasty setup and coming back to skim over Zsasz’s body.

“Mmm, today _was_ a good day, wasn’t it?” He said, proudly. Most businessmen would be furious with the outcome of a failed deal, but a deal gone bad ending in an artistic massacre was just as good as a successful venture in Roman Sionis’ world.

“It was.” Victor answered slowly, wondering what angle Roman was going for. Was he annoyed that Victor wasn’t available to entertain him, or was he reevaluating his idea of entertainment for the evening?

Evidently the latter.

“Well? Get on with it. Or are you just going to stand in front of the mirror admiring yourself all night?”

He continued setting up; retrieving his knife from the bowl, where it soaked in antiseptic.

“How do you pick where they go?” Roman interrupted, as he moved to get a closer look. “Do you have a pattern or a design in mind?”

“No design. The marks go wherever I feel like putting them.”

“Well that’s boring.”

“Did you have something else in mind?” He could tell Roman did. He had that look in his eyes, the one that said Victor was playing right into his hand. It was dangerous and exciting and exactly where Victor preferred to be. It usually led to something enjoyable, eventually.

“I can think of a few things...”

Victor turned the knife over in his hand, holding the handle out for the other man to take.

“All yours.”

Roman’s face lit up; it was obvious he hadn’t expected his prize so easily won, but Victor wasn’t in a mood to wait this evening. His skin itched with the need to even the score – he felt agitated and wound up, the added attention from his boss only furthering his tension.

Roman’s hand trailed across Victor’s torso, navigating the blank spaces around the scarred lines, brushing fingertips over the thickened, disfigured skin. It was a strange sensation – people didn’t touch Zsasz like that, didn’t _want_ to, didn’t _dare._

“Anywhere?” Glee was written all over Roman’s face as he surveyed the landscape of options.

“Anywhere.”

Zsasz concentrated on memorizing the moment, as the knife tip skittered over his flesh, trailing to his back as Roman circled him slowly, making small questioning noises to himself as he debated his choices.

“What if I wanted to put them here?” He dipped his fingers low, sliding underneath the waistband of Victor’s boxers, scraping manicured nails over his ass cheek.

Victor smiled – he’d guessed Roman would go there; they’d been delicately dancing along that line for some time now, Victor waiting patiently for the moment when the other would cross it. He’d been prepared to wait a lot longer, but he _really_ didn’t want to.

Roman Sionis was not a man who could be rushed though; one just had to learn how to navigate his tumultuous waters and keep him headed in a direction that wouldn’t make everyone drown. Zsasz was becoming quite adept at playing his compass.

“Anywhere you want, sir.”

Roman’s hands explored further, soft flesh catching on raised scars. He tutted, and continued his search; apparently displeased that his idea wasn’t as original as he’d assumed.

“Even here?” Victor could hear the raised eyebrow in his voice, close enough to his face to smell the remnants of alcohol still on his breath, as his hand followed along the elastic biting into Zsasz’s hip and over the soft cotton to grope at his semi-hard cock.

It wasn’t a place he was particularly eager to take a knife to, but for Roman…

"Of course, boss.”

“Or _maybe_ …” Roman released his groin only to wrap his hand around Victor’s neck, pulling from him a gasp that had nothing to do with the lack of air. Roman placed his lips next to the man’s ear, hot breath and sharp teeth caressing Victor’s skin. “ _Maybe_ I want to put it here – right where everyone will see.”

In spite of his general despondence, Roman’s words pulled a muted whimper out of him. He felt the self-satisfied smile against his neck.

“Would you like that, Mr. Zsasz? The marks I place on you being the first thing everyone’s eyes go to when they see you? Remembering this moment every time you look in a mirror?”

Victor’s hands were clenched at his sides, muscles burning with the effort to stay still.

“I think you would, wouldn’t you?”

He didn’t want to respond – the wrong answer would mean moving on to a different spot, or worse, Roman growing bored with the game and walking away. He needed those lines, and he needed Roman to put them there. 

“Answer me!” The hand around his throat closed tight as he yelled the order.

“Yes.” Victor was too turned on to be embarrassed about the desperation in his voice.

Roman tutted.

“What happened to those manners, hmm? Is that how you answer when I ask you a question, Mr. Zsasz?” He squeezed a little harder and Victor keened at the increased pressure.

“No, sir.”

“Now, I’ll ask you again, and this time you’re going to answer politely, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m going to take this blade and carve you up. Your blood belongs to me. Your _body_ belongs to me and it will bear my marks for everyone to see. Is that what you want _Victor_?”

“Yes, sir.” He nearly stumbled over the two simple words with how fast they tried to escape his mouth. 

“Good, but you can do better. You really want it? Then beg for it.”

Of course that was his game. The bastard knew _exactly_ how much he was torturing Zsasz by delaying the act. And fuck if that didn’t turn him on even more. Victor wasn’t one to beg, but manipulation was certainly in his wheelhouse. Sionis liked to know he was in control of every one of his possessions, to know how badly they depended on him.

Victor could work with that.

“ _Please_ , _fuck_ , please boss, cut me; leave your mark and let them see, let them all see what I’d do for you.”

“And what is it you would do for me?”

“ _Anything_.”

Roman used the hand around his throat to pull their bodies flush against one another – no attempt at hiding the hard outline of his cock – and pressed the sharp edge of the blade right under Victor’s chin.

“And if I wanted to take this blade and slit your throat right here?” he whispered, quiet and calm belying his otherwise excited demeanor.

 _This_ was the crime lord Victor loved to watch; the malicious maniac who gave into every temptation and desire that crossed his mind. He wanted to feed it, nurture it into something bloody and beautiful. He would give Roman anything he wanted when he was like this – Anything his twisted mind could think of would be his.

Victor held back a groan, keeping still underneath the cold blade.

“You should move closer to the sink. It’ll make a mess.”

Roman barked out a laugh at that, the heavy atmosphere in the room shifting into something a bit more playful but no less intense.

“Well we wouldn’t want _that_ now, would we?”

“No, sir.”

He released Victor, hand sliding down his body, lingering as if reluctant to break the contact completely.

“Stay,” he ordered, as if there was anywhere else in the world Victor would rather be in that moment. Roman pulled a pair of black latex gloves from a cabinet near the sink – _of course he would have gloves stashed everywhere._ Victor was a bit disappointed that his blood wouldn’t touch Roman’s bare skin, but this was already more than he could’ve asked for; it was too much to expect his boss to go against his fastidious nature.

Roman unbuttoned the cream-colored blazer he’d fallen asleep in and tossed it over a hamper across the room. The sight of his latex-covered hands rolling up the sleeves of his powder blue shirt as he walked back to Victor had his mouth watering. He looked like he did when he was about to order Victor to skin someone alive – determined, deranged, and utterly delighted. He moved with the confidence of Black Mask, sure and steady in his purpose.

“Seven, wasn’t it?” he asked, picking the knife back up and moving to stand behind Victor once more.

“Eight.”

Roman took a second to relive the afternoon’s events in his memory, apparently concluding that Zsasz was correct in his count.

“One line for each, or should we start smaller?” Victor could see the tease in his eyes through the mirror, but it didn’t stop him from bristling at the thought. He’d done this plenty of times, he didn’t need Roman to fucking _ease_ him into it.

“All eight or give me the fucking knife back.”

Roman tutted, feigning being affronted, but Victor could see it in his face that he’d responded exactly as expected.

“Now, now, don’t be rude, pet; I’ll give you what you want.”

The first cut sliced deep; stinging warmth searing across his chest and spreading throughout his body. A small part of him had worried that Roman would hesitate, but he should have known better – his hand was steady, the cuts a slow, constant pressure riding that sweet spot between too deep and just right.

The crime lord might not have _liked_ getting his hands dirty, but he sure as hell knew _how._

Victor relaxed into the pain; four parallel lines and one cutting across diagonal, a tally of souls released into the abyss. Each was carved on an inhale so that he was inadvertently pressing deeper into the blade, a varying amount of seconds in between making them unpredictable and all the more exciting.

His ritual wasn’t usually sexual – he derived pleasure from the pain, sure, but it was a perfunctory task, a compulsion, an obligation. This though… this was something else. Roman had the infuriating ability to radiate sensuality in everything he did.

Or maybe that was just Victor’s opinion.

He was getting lightheaded – from the blood loss, pain, or endorphins he couldn’t tell – so it took him a moment to realize the cutting had stopped and gloved fingers were now tracing the marks reverently, checking the quality of his work.

Victor was sure it was impeccable.

“Now, where to put the other three…” Roman hummed, as if he was actually debating the question. Victor growled – higher brain function struggling to break through the haze – and pulled the knife up to his throat. The deep chuckle against his ear did nothing to calm Victor’s need. “So demanding, Mr. Zsasz. You’re lucky I’m feeling generous this evening. Now turn around and get on your knees, I want a better view for these.” Roman took a step back to give him room, removing the knife from cutting distance.

Victor turned to him without question – unsteady, but capable – catching Roman’s gaze as he slowly dragged it up Victor’s body, and knelt down, hands clasped behind his back waiting patiently for Roman to resume his task.

He placed two fingers under Victor’s chin, applying a firm pressure to direct his head up and slightly to the right until his canvas was perfect.

“Be still,” he ordered, despite the fact that the man knelt before him was performing a perfect imitation of a statue.

Victor’s eyes fell closed. It was a heady feeling to put his life in Roman Sionis’ hands. If he pressed just a little too hard, if he got overzealous – as Roman was wont to do – if he slipped… that could be it for him. It was a terrifying, thrilling, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, setting his whole body on edge. The cold press of the knife against his throat had him fighting every instinct to stay still.

“Open your eyes.”

The sight he was met with was not the one he’d expected. He’d seen Roman victorious, vicious, vindictive; seen him in an incoherent rage, giddy with excitement, on the verge of a break down, but never had he seen such a look of wonder on his face. He was staring down at Victor like he was the rarest piece of art the world had to offer, and it was all Roman’s. He’d been on the receiving end of wide range of looks, but never one like that.

It might have taken Roman a minute or an hour to make those three cuts; time was a concept Victor’s brain had given up on processing, what with all the other stimuli it was trying desperately to comprehend. All he knew was that by the time the marks were done he was out of breath, fully hard, and desperate to get his mouth on Roman.

The clattering of his knife dropping on the counter started to pull him out of his head, ready for Roman to turn around, wash his hands, and pretend none of this had ever happened. It’d obviously gone farther than either of them had intended at the start. Instead, Roman turned back to him, gloves still in place, and traced three of his fingers along the fresh lines, almost like claws.

“It looks like you still managed to make a mess,” he said, holding his hand out for Victor to see. Without thinking, he leaned forward and took one of the fingers in his mouth, swirling his tongue around and sucking until he could no longer taste the coppery tang of his own blood in his mouth before moving on to the next digit. The noise Roman made sounded wounded and shocked, but he made no move to stop what was happening.

He could see the hard outline of Roman’s cock through his trousers and, taking all three fingers into his mouth, he risked reaching out for Roman’s hips as if to steady himself. Roman’s free hand went to the back of his head, a firm pressure neither pulling nor pushing, just holding. Victor took it as a sign to keep pushing his luck.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he slid his hands inward along the waist of Roman’s slacks until he reached the belt buckle.

“So greedy tonight, aren’t we?” Roman asked, dragging his fingers from Victor’s mouth, but leaving his hand on the back of his head so Victor couldn’t pull away. Victor licked his lips and looked up, panting. The grip on his head tightened. Roman’s gaze flicked to the deft hands on his belt, then back to Victor’s face. “Like I said, lucky for you, I’m in a generous mood.”

Victor continued, removing the belt and placing it gently on the floor – he wasn’t stupid enough to ever throw one of Roman’s belongings, even in his worked up state – before thumbing the button open and pulling down the fly. He hesitated before going further, but Roman’s generosity obviously didn’t include patience.

He batted Zsasz’s hands away, pulling himself out and stroking to full hardness.

Victor swallowed, his mouth watering at the promise of what was to come. 

“Look at you, the dreadful Victor Zsasz, feared by every motherfucker in the East End with half a brain cell, on his knees drooling for my cock. Is that all it takes to tame the feral beast?”

The snarl Victor gave in response was enough of an answer.

“Good. I’d hate to think you were so much of a cockslut that you’d roll over and show your belly to just anyone.”

If anyone else had dared to imply something so degrading, they’d have had a blade in their throat before they finished speaking.

But Roman wasn’t anyone else.

“Only you.”

“And why is that, my obedient pet?”

“Because you’re Roman fucking Sionis, and I belong to _you_. My hands,” he slid his hands up Roman’s thighs, feeling the taut muscles twitch underneath his palms. “My mouth,” he leaned forward just enough to lick a warm, wet line up the underside of Roman’s cock before gently kissing the head. “My body… all yours to do with as you please. I’m your weapon, and your toy. Use me.”

“ _Fuck._ ” Roman gripped Victor’s chin tightly; thumb pulling down on his lip, mouth opening willingly, eagerly. “Let’s put that silver tongue of yours to work, shall we?”

He felt like heated silk against Victor’s tongue and tasted better than any delicacy Roman had ever offered him. He took his time savoring the feeling, laving at the shaft, sucking and tonging at the thick vein on the underside. He let his lips catch on the head a few times, moaning at the salty bead of precum he found there, before Roman couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fucking tease,” he groaned – the tone coming out much more needy than annoyed.

Victor paused, pulling back just enough to speak.

“If you want more, take it,” he encouraged. Always encouraged, never ordered. Roman didn’t need someone to tell him what to do, just a gentle nudge in the right direction from time to time. That’s what Victor was there for – among other things.

Roman didn’t need any more encouraging than that.

He ran his gloved hand roughly over Victor’s scalp before gripping tight at the back of his head, holding him still as he took Roman fully into his mouth. He generously gave his henchman a moment to adjust before setting a brutal pace with his thrusts.

It was at once too much and not enough. Victor was used to feeling empty, apathetic; he was used to settling for _just_ _enough_. Now he was in overload, every new sensation assaulted his senses to the max and it still wasn’t enough. He needed _more,_ craved every inch of Roman’s skin, every ounce of his attention. His entire body ached with need to be _owned_ by the other man.

Roman Sionis would be the death of him.

He palmed at his own erection, barely more of a relief than an exquisite torture.

“Nuh uh, hands behind your back. You’ll get off from what I give you or not at all, ‘kay?” It was a statement, not a question, and the demand went straight to Victor’s cock. His pleasure belonged to Roman.

Zsasz grinned, slowly tilting his head up to meet the hunger in his boss’s eyes. “Then give it to me.”

Roman growled, stepping forward and crowding further into Zsasz’s space so the henchman had to sit up straighter to keep from being knocked over. The result was the press of their bodies, hard shin between muscular thighs sending tendrils of pleasure up his spine.

Victor wasn’t a performer – not with personal interactions, not with murder, and especially not with sex – but since meeting Roman Sionis, being brought into his inner circle, the urge had been striking him more and more. Roman always wanted a show, and that’s what he was going to get.

The noises he made were downright pornographic. He hadn’t even known he could sound so obscene – never having the inclination to do so – but it seemed to be working for Roman. If he was being honest, it was working for him too. Roman took control, fucking his mouth rough and raw, and Victor let him. He let his instincts kick in, too focused on relaxing his throat and the friction against his own cock to think about anything else. It felt good to be used, to fulfill a purpose.

“ _Fuck_ you’re so good for me Victor, such a good pet.” He pulled back far enough for the other man to catch his breath, but not so far as to give the impression they were done. “You would let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?” he asked, slowly feeding him his cock, one hand holding Victor’s head in place with fingers gripped tightly on the back of his neck and the other gently caressing the prickly skin of his cheek and chin, wet with saliva.

Victor nodded ‘yes’, as best he could.

“You would let me keep you on your knees like this all night, use you again and again until I grow bored.”

Victor whined around the flesh in his mouth, fingernails digging into his wrist to stop from touching himself. Roman pulled out fully, holding himself just out of reach and stroking fast. Victor’s mouth remained open, eyes pleading for Roman not to be done with him yet.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you desperate; it’s a good look on you.”

Of course Roman would be a chatty lay, Victor had expected no less, but the way the sheer filth that fell from between his lips went straight to Victor’s cock was something he hadn’t been expecting. He could feel the spit dripping down his chin, but kept his mouth open, silently begging for more, begging Roman to fill him up, make his jaw ache with the violence of it.

He didn’t have to wait much longer.

He nearly fell back with the force Roman shoved back into his mouth, but he held his ground, groaning around the mouthful, finding a rhythm in the fierce rocking of Roman’s hips.

“ _Fuck,_ you enjoy choking on my cock don’t you?” His grin was nothing but a feral show of teeth as he lost himself further and further to the perfect heat of Victor’s mouth. He pressed in deep until he felt the tight tunnel of throat constricting around him. His fingers tightened on Victor’s chin, holding him steady – as if he wasn’t _exactly_ where he wanted to be.

“How far would you let me go? How long can you last without a breath? A few more seconds? Another minute? Imagine, one of Gotham’s Most Wanted suffocating on my dick, the last thing you ever taste being my cum spilling down your throat.” A noise escaped Victor, ragged and needy. He was getting light headed, pressure building behind his eyes, begging him to take a breath. His body moved without his consent, hips frantically chasing the pressure of Roman’s leg, hands clutching on to Roman’s waist begging him not to stop yet; he could take it, he could take _more._

“You were fucking made for me, weren’t you? You’re _mine_. I _own_ you,” Victor held on harder, wanted to scream _yes, yes, yes_. Roman was losing his steady footing, hips making aborted thrusts into the wet heat of Victor’s mouth even as he tried to stay still, to keep putting on a show. Despite his best efforts at keeping them open, Victor’s watering eyes began to fall closed.

“ _Yes_ , fuck, show me how good you can be for your master.” Roman ordered, releasing down Victor’s throat with a ragged moan and digging his fingers into the fresh wounds on his neck.

It was too much. _Fuck it was too much._

Victor’s body felt like it was on the verge of imploding. Every muscle tensed for an impact that wouldn’t come. The pain, the pleasure, the lack of oxygen, made everything feel a thousand times more intense than anything he’d ever had before. His body was an exposed nerve. He was dying. The best possible death he could have imagined for himself. It felt so fucking good, nothing had _ever_ felt this good – and then Roman pulled his still leaking cock from his mouth and rubbed himself against the stinging lines on his neck; thick, hot strings of white turning pink as they mixed with his blood.

The return of oxygen to his lungs set his body alight. The orgasm ripped through him like nothing before. His entire body shivered with the force of it, hands clinging desperately to Roman to keep himself upright as he rode out the waves of pleasure coursing through him. He rested his head against Roman’s stomach, panting like he’d just run a fucking marathon in spite of having not moved for the past several minutes. He was exhausted in the most delicious way.

“Fucking hell Victor, that was exquisite. A goddamn masterpiece.” Roman leaned against the marble counter, running a hand through his hair then grimacing as he remembered the gloves. He peeled them off and tossed them in the trash with a lip curl, continuing to strip on his way towards the shower. The soft brush of fingertips across Victor’s sweat soaked shoulders exposed a tenderness he knew better than to acknowledge.

"Clean up the mess you made, then join me in the shower. You’re disgusting.”

Victor stood, legs weak from kneeling and exertion, feeling better than he had in years.

“Yes, boss.”


End file.
